


Brock Rumlow and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by HobbitSpaceCase



Series: MCU Flashmeme fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AKA, Brock Rumlow looks for the Asset, Brock Rumlow's ego, Community: mcuflashmeme, M/M, This is crack, Week 6, also, and has a very bad day, brock rumlow's fragile masculinity, finding something that has been lost, just crack, story logic, that allows for far more travel than a real person can do in one day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitSpaceCase/pseuds/HobbitSpaceCase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brock Rumlow wakes up after the collapse of the Triskellion, finds out that Hydra is ruined, his husband is dead, and the Asset is missing, and decides that at least he can try to do something about one of those three disasters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brock Rumlow and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Brock Rumlow was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

It was all due to that lousy Captain America, who made an entire building fall on him. The building only fell on him, too, because Hydra’s helicarriers were taken down by the same person. After having a building fall on him, Brock was so burned that he couldn’t wear his favorite Axe body spray without searing pain.

He also woke up in a hospital. Brock hated hospitals. “I should have retired to Australia,” Brock rasped to himself. He wanted to get out of the hospital bed, but first there was a man in the room who was about to make his day even worse.

“I see you’ve finally woken up,” the man said. Brock recognized his voice as belonging to Agent Westfahl, one of the worst agents in Hydra.

“What’s going on?” Brock rasped. He was horrified to discover that his once sexy voice had become ugly and harsh. His husband was going to be disgusted.

Westfahl rolled his eyes. “An unmitigated disaster, that’s what,” he said. “The helicarriers were destroyed, the Asset’s in the wind, and Pierce is dead. Most of Hydra’s gone underground for now.” He leered at Brock unpleasantly. “You’re a lucky enough bastard to get an _honor guard_ and a nice hospital room till you’re fixed up enough to be of use again.”

His tone made it quite clear that the honor of his guards was dubious at best.

“Where’s Jack?” Brock rasped. 

Westfahl laughed, the bastard. “Rollins wasn’t as lucky as you,” Westfahl said. His voice was still the same dull and whiny thing it had always been. Now Westfahl was a man who could benefit from having a building dropped on his head. Brock was almost too lost in the fantasy to register the other man’s words.

“What?!” he tried to shout, and was immediately sent into a painful coughing fit. His husband couldn’t be dead! But Westfahl was still laughing, and not in the way that meant his words were just a cruel prank.

Brock swung his legs out of bed. He ripped the IV out of his arm. It was painful, but not as painful as the punch he landed right on Westfahl’s smug face. 

“I have to find the Asset,” Brock said to Westfahl’s prone body. Westfahl did not reply, because he was unconscious.

The Asset was probably lost and alone without Brock and Jack to take care of him.

Brock stumbled out of the hospital room. He immediately turned around and stumbled back in, to avoid the guards posted at the end of the hall. Out the window it was, then.

One lucky thing happened to Brock that day. The hospital room, it turned out, was on the first floor, so Brock did not fall and break his neck when he tipped himself out the window. He did scratch himself quite nastily on the rosebushes outside the window, but he still had enough painkiller running through his veins that it did not stop him.

The cold of New Jersey in the fall was a much bigger problem.

The fact that he’d been stuck in a hospital in _New Jersey_ of all places went so far beyond _problem_ that Brock refused to think about it.

“Why don’t I live in Australia?” Brock muttered to himself, crouching in the bushes to turn his hospital gown around and clutch it tightly closed. 

Brock got lots of strange looks as he walked down the streets of New Jersey. No doubt people thought he was a crazy homeless person. Worse, the burn scars meant that everyone most certainly thought he was ugly. He wanted to shout at everyone that they were all uglier than him, but his throat was too sore.

This day sucked.

The first place Brock went to was an old safe house. It was meant be for him and Jack, but Jack was gone. Brock was _not_ going to add to this terrible, horrible, no good day by crying.

At the safe house, Brock found his specially modified tactical gear. Jack had laughed at him when he made it, but now it would come in useful. It had a lot of padding that would keep him warm, and a mask that would keep anyone from seeing how ugly his face had become.

He had originally intended the mask to hide his identity in the event that he had to go one the run, but been saddened that it would also hide his good looks. Now he was very grateful to his past self for choosing practicality over vanity for once. With how burned and gross he was, it was more imperative than ever to hide his identity from anyone who may have once known him.

Next, Brock tried to take a nap, because so much movement had tired him out a lot.

Unfortunately, it was very hard to nap in his gear. When he took the gear off, he was too sore and cold to nap. To top things off, his painkiller was wearing off.

Eventually, Brock decided that more painkiller was more important than napping.

In his special tac gear, it was easy enough to intimidate a pharmacist into giving him the good stuff.

Finally, Brock decided he had wasted enough time. He had an Asset to find. There was no telling what sort of trouble the Asset might be in. Hydra had fallen, Jack was dead, and Brock had spent who knows how long lying about useless in a hospital.

Every safe house he checked was empty. He rode a train to New York and checked the Brooklyn safe house first. He checked Manhattan, Long Island, and even looked into the coffee shop right down the street from Stark Tower that housed Hydra’s catering division. No where could he find the Asset.

He did get yelled at twenty three times on the subway, asked twelve times if he was going to an anime convention, and was told by one small child that the circus only came by in the summer and he looked ridiculous.

He bet if he lived in Australia, no one would look at him twice. Australia was full of weird people.

Brock was exhausted after his long day of searching for the lost Asset. He was also cold, and getting very loopy from the painkiller he’d been taking all day. He wandered for a while, finally ending up outside an old, mostly abandoned safe house in Astoria as the sun was going down.

It would at least be warmer than sleeping outdoors.

Very demotivated by his dreadful day, Brock slumped into the safe house. He slapped a hand against the wall inside to find the light switch, then slapped a few more places on the wall till he found it. Bright fluorescent light glared off the metal walls of a big, empty room.

A mostly empty room.

Brock had just experienced the worst day of his life (even worse than Budapest, and _no one_ talked about Budapest), but now he smiled.

“Winter!” he cried, trying to leap forward to the Asset, who was curled up in a ball in the middle of the floor. Instead, his stiff limbs betrayed him and sent him sprawling on his face, but he didn’t even care. He had finally found the Asset!

Jack, and Hydra, and the helicarriers were all still gone, but now he had the Asset, and maybe things were finally going to be as ok as they could be in a world without Jack Rollins.


End file.
